Iron Without Souls
by Cyber 14
Summary: Deep in the swamps of Darkgrove, something evil is stirring. Detective Matthias Gould, AKA Mr. Sorrow, is sent to investigate. What he finds there could scar the Imperium forever. Rated teen for violence and mild language. Chapter 3 up. Chapter 1 updated.
1. Rumors and Legands

Hi there. A fic centering on a major character from another of my 40K fics "Irony" I thought I would explore his character a little more, as I haven't written much about him except for his bio and his part in that story. This will be a multi-chapter fic, so stay tuned.

Major rewrite, based on suggestions given by RobbieBuckshotLaFunk. Thanks man, you were a ton of help.

Just for the heck of it, here's a short "credits sequence" as in a movie.

I've always wanted to try something like this. I'll add to the roster as I go along. (note, many of the characters are extras, or have no real life counterpart.)

It's set to 'Superpredators" by Massive Attack.

(Wavy, distorted shots of a castle, surrounding marshland, and hands tinkering with delicate machines, akin to the opening of Se7en.)

Hugo Weaving as Detective Matthias Gould…………….Hugh Jackman as Jack Constantine………….Alan Rickman as Inquisitor Harklond………………Elijah Wood as Lawrence Sorenson………..Brad Pitt as Detective Kyle Heywood…………. David Wenham as Inquisitor Roland………….. Daniel Craig as Inquisitor Obscura……….

…………..directed, written, and produced by Cyber 14………..

Iron Without Souls 

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It had been a long day.

The thick coniferous forests of planet Halxion IV were, in a word, hot. No, they were boiling. As the transport he was riding in zipped down a paved road through the endless forests, Detective Matthias Gould wished beyond measure to be anywhere else, The windswept plains of Perspektywa, the cool tropical islands of New Vista, even the dank marshes of his home planet of Darkgrove seemed more appealing then the hot, sweltering hell that they were whistling through now. After docking at high anchor, Gould had ridden a lander down to the planet's surface and disembarked for the local capital city.

He had made the five-day trip to this agri-world to meet with a senior member of the planet's government. He was en-route to the capitol building to meet with him. The man had said that he wished to procure the Shadow Front's services.

The Shadow Front was a paramilitary, Administratum-funded spying agency. They undertook various types of contracts for the Imperial government and private groups alike. Their skill was unmatched, making members of the organization highly respected and, to their enemies, greatly feared. To Gould, this contract seemed routine enough: a senior official needing an investigation, arrest, or some such job done, and done quietly. This contract seemed no different then the hundreds of others undertaken by the Shadow Front every year.

The transporter pulled up to the front of the building and Matthias got out. He was ushered into a private conference room and told to wait. After about ten minutes of sitting in the high ceilinged room, studying the ornate carvings lacing the high arches, the door opened and a man stepped in.

"Ahh, Detective," said the senator in a squeaky, wheezing voice. He was short and round, with a tuft of graying hair jutting from the top of his head like a bush. He was wearing a smart blue suit and had a file of papers in his hand, "a pleasure to meet you, shall we get started? Now, I would like you…"

Gould never found out what he was asked to do. Just then, another figure strode into the room.

It was a man Gould knew all too well. His name was Inquisitor Viktor Harklond.

He was a tall man in his late one-fifties, his hair graying at the temples. He had a long, drawn, lined face, which exuded an air of calm, intimidating power.

"Ahh, Mr. Sorrow," the man said, extending his hand and using Gould's nickname, "I'm glad I caught you," he turned to the senator, "You, out, now" he said, snapping his fingers and gesturing towards the door, "Detective Gould and I have some more important things to discuss right now."

The man quickly nodded, gathered up his papers, and hastily scampered out of the room, like a rat scurrying for cover in a storehouse after the owner opens the door.

"What was that for, Inquisitor?" said Gould, more than a little annoyed, "You just kicked out a paying…"

"That can wait," interrupted Harklond curtly, "Something more urgent has come up, something that requires our immediate attention," He set a file of papers down on the table and motioned for Gould to sit. The Inquisitor opened the file and sifted through the numerous papers in it thoughtfully before speaking.

"Last week, we came into possession of some…information. Startling information," he said cautiously, "We don't know how reliable it is at present."

"Go on…" Gould replied.

"Well, last week we received, from a Darkgrove PDF listening post in the Death Marshes, this vox broadcast," he walked over to the vista-screen on the far wall and inserted a small disk. The screen flashed the audio recording symbol and the recording started. A man with a thick Darkgrovian accent cut through the distortion, sounding hysterical.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone listening? This is a message to any military forces in the area. I am transmitting from castle Tannhauser. We need help! Adept Jahlson, damn his soul! He won't listen to reason! He let them loose in the castle! They've taken over! We can't get out. Can anyone hear me? Tell Colonel Jurganson to send anything we've got. Wipe this place from existence! I will transmit for as long as I can. This message will be repeated at regular intervals. Tannhauser out."

The recording ended. A ringing silence hung in the air, until Gould broke it.

"What, was, that?" he said slowly.

"Precisely what we wanted to know. We have some theories, but you won't like them,"

"What are they?" asked Gould warily.

The Inquisitor sighed before continuing. "We have reason to believe that a faction of the Adeptus Mechanicus has found a working STC."

"What? That's great! This will be a…"

"No."

"What?"

"You don't understand. There's more. We believe that this particular STC is designed to create the…the Men of Iron," he said. "The mechanical men of old that turned on us and…"

"I am quite familiar with the legends, Inquisitor," said Gould, "That's serious. You're saying it could be in this castle?"

"We don't know. We lost track of it and those frakking Mechanicus boys won't tell us where they've taken it. Something about "sacred secrets" or some such nonsense," the Inquisitor said, disgusted, "It might be there, though. We simply don't know."

"If you're right, then we do have a problem." Gould said, "You want my advice; take his," he gestured to the vista-screen, "Flatten this castle. Wipe it from the face of Darkgrove before these _things_ get loose."

"It's not that simple. You know as well as I do that after the war, the Death Marshes area became a dead zone. No one knows how, but fliers malfunction and die the minute they enter the airspace. We can't bomb the place or we would have already," the Inquisitor replied.

"So why did you come to me with this?" Gould asked, knowing and dreading the answer.

"Simple, we want you to go in and investigate," Inquisitor Harklond replied, "You know the terrain, and your…skills more than qualify you for the job. Besides, it's probably nothing." he replied.

"Why can't you just send a SpecOps team in? Surely there are many more then capable units planetside already…"

"None that can navigate the Death Marshes as well as you can. You know this," The Inquisitor interrupted, "Men get lost in there. It may seem hard to believe, but _every_ team we've sent in there over the past year, for any reason, ended up lost for days. There's something wrong with that place, Gould. The topography is all screwy. You're the only man I know who can navigate through the marshes without losing your way. So, will you do it?"

Gould thought for a moment, "Well, It's better then being stuck here in this heat filing papers for some overpaid senator," he answered him, shrugging.

"Amen to that," the Inquisitor replied, and they both left the room.

Little did they know that they would be stumbling onto something far, far bigger hidden in the marshes then either of them could have feared.

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Well, that's the first chapter. Cliffys rock.

All of the mentioned planets (Darkgrove, Halxion IV, New Vista, Perspektywa, ect.) and all characters are my own creations. Ask me if you would like to use them, and give me credit.

Trivia Fun Fact of the day: The name of the castle (Tannhauser) is a reference to the old German legend of Tannhauser Gate, a symbol for unobtainable and unreachable goals. (It is also the name of a battle in the Blade Runner universe.)

The next chapter should be up soon. Stay tuned.


	2. Old Friends

Well, here's chappie number two. Enjoy.

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They were in it now.

Detective Gould strode through the engine room of his ship, the Ghosthunter. The room was huge; forty stories tall. This single cavernous room rose the entire height of his ship. Massive engine structures stretched up to the vast arched ceiling, while repair and maintenance servitors and the occasional living crew member scuttled around across the concrete floor and over the many catwalks like so many cockroaches, swarming over a piece of moldy bread left out by a careless owner.

After his meeting with the Inquisitor, Gould had returned to his ship and promptly set a course for Darkgrove. After seven days of travel through the Warp, he arrived at the edge of the system. Four days of sublight travel later, and they had arrived at their current position, orbiting Darkgrove waiting for clearance to dock at one of the massive orbiting space docks.

Gould looked up as a short, skinny man, a member of the Ratling sub-breed, approached him. His name was Lawrence Sorenson and he was the ship's engine room foreman.

"Ahh, Matt. Good to see you. Everything set for planetfall?" he asked.

"Almost, Lawrence," Gould said, "Listen. I've given everyone shore leave for the next week, or until I get back. Whichever comes first. It'd be good for everyone to spend some time off this dank ship and on actual land for once."

"Hoorah. Shore leave. Heck, I've been on this ship for…how long has it been… eight months straight now. Finally, some actual dry land," he said, "But, why did you come all the way down here to tell me this, couldn't you have announced it over the vox system?"

"Well, I wanted to ask you. What do you know about a…castle Tannhauser? I mean, as far as labs or test sites or the like?" Sorenson was an ex Imperial spy, and knew of all sorts of supposedly classified information, which was one of the reasons Gould had hired him.

"Well," he thought for a moment, "Not much. I do know that, in the past, there have been many legends surrounding the place. It's supposed to be deserted now. Isolated, you see, by the Death Marshes. Strange legends. Ghost stories and such. Seems perfect cover for some sort of experiment. Although I don't know if it was ever used for that purpose. So don't take my word for it. I'd check the archives. The castle might be listed under historic places; might give you some information."

"Alright, thanks. Hey, enjoy yourself." Gould said, extending his hand. Sorenson shook it. His touch felt metallic and cold. Two of his fingers, the ring and little fingers, were augmetic, souvenirs of an old war wound.

"Good luck, sir," Lawrence replied, "See you when you get back."

"See you."

After exiting the engine room, Gould headed for his ship's archives. They consisted of a large, rectangular, low ceilinged room with exposed support beams striping the roof. Rows of metal shelves were arranged in a line, with low hanging florescent lights suspended between them. These shelves filled most of the room, except for a central area, where a small table and chairs sat, used for examining documents. The shelves were piled with uncountable books and files containing information on various planets, cultures and events that Gould had amassed over his travels. They dealt with everything from the atomic cleansing of Kreig to recipes for New Vistian coconut brittle.

Gould strode between a pair of these shelves and found the file he was looking for. He took the dusty volume of Darkgrovian history down from its shelf and carried it over to the central table, where he sat it with a loud _thump_ and sat down on the hard wooden chair next to the table. He searched the index until he found what he was looking for. He turned to the page on Castle Tannhauser and started reading.

Apparently, the castle wasn't new to disturbance or mystery. Legends of strange and eerie happenings had plagued the castle since its construction, including several allegations of various chaos cults operating out of the castle. Ordo Hereticus investigations turned up nothing, but rumors and ghost stories apparently still hounded the area even to the present day. Intrigued by this new discovery, Gould rose from his chair and, having found what he was looking for, returned the book to its place on the shelf.

After doing so, Gould left the archives and went up to his private quarters. They consisted of a vast apartment, with a large window running the length of one wall, to observe the warp or regular space. The walls and floor were whitewood, and the ceiling was cream-colored drywall, with recessed lighting ringing the perimeter and bathing the room in a dim, creamy light. This was Gould's "official" home, although he did live planetside from time to time, in Shadow Front apartments that were shared on a rotating basis with other operatives.

He crossed the living room and looked out the long window. He could see Darkgrove now, the sun glistening around the edge of the dark green planet like a "sunrise" and endless ship traffic floating soundlessly to and fro, in between the massive docking structures and ports, ice clinging to their hulls from transit through the Warp, glistening like snowflakes as they broke from the massive hulls and sliced through space like miniature daggers. He could see that they were pulling into one of these giant docking structures now. It looked like a huge floating marina, drifting endlessly in the "bay". Matthias was glad to have something else to look at other then the strange, gyrating lights and blotches of liquid shadow that composed the Warp.

Gould walked over and sat down on the white leather couch across from the window. He picked up a control wand and signaled for his music player to activate. Almost immediately, the Darkgrovian pound music group War Fetus's newest album issued from hidden speakers, sending rhythmic Kreigian lyrics echoing throughout the room. With this as a backdrop, Gould looked over his mission documents.

The mission was very simple: he was to go in, appraise the situation and recommend military response. It seemed a routine enough job, one that he had done hundreds of times before. But, throwing a proverbial wrench into the engine, he would have company.

Gould's old friend, the bounty hunter Jack Constantine, would accompany him as backup. The file stated that Constantine was chasing a fugitive who escaped into the death marshes, and he would accompany Gould in the hopes of finding the man. The fugitive would no doubt need to find shelter from the harsh landscape of the area, and Castle Tannhauser was the only known structure in the marshes. So Jack was coming along to give chase. This slightly annoyed Gould. He had no doubts about Jack's combat abilities; he was one of the Imperium's most famous bounty hunters, a living legend, but Gould was uneasy with having to lead Jack through the marshes. The area messed with the minds of normal people, confused them, and Gould's psychic abilities were the only thing that allowed him to navigate successfully through the marshes without becoming lost.

By now, the album had advanced two tracks and was playing a haunting combination of orchestrated and synthesized music accompanied by choral singing in High Gothic. It was one of Gould's favorite tracks by the artist. Even so, Gould walked over and switched the player off. It was time to make planetfall.

He exited his apartment, locked it behind him, and made his way down to his personal armory. This large, well lit room contained all of Detective Gould's weapons, a virtual arsenal comprised of everything from swords, handguns, and SMGs, to rocket launchers, wall mines, and heavy explosives. Gould strode past a rack of Edelweiss Arms-made assault rifles and advanced on a gun case he knew very well. Inside it was one of Gould's favorite weapons. Inside was a TAC Desert Hunter.

The TAC Desert Hunter was the magnum opus of the Tallarn Armament Corporation. Literally, as it fired magnum ammunition. Technically, it was a large semi automatic handgun firing solid slug ammunition from a detachable, in grip, box magazine. It came in a variety of chamberings and configurations to outfit it for any situation where high lethality and takedown power was needed. Soldiers loved it. It was robust and intimidating, making it the prime choice for anyone wishing to demoralize a foe.

Gould lifted the gleaming weapon from its case and inserted a magazine with a click. Chambering a round with a loud _Ca-Chack_, Gould holstered it. He then walked over to a wall and pulled a sawn off shotgun from a rack. Specifically, it was a Shalebridge Arms Mark 59 "Legion" hunting shotgun cut down to its present size with a power saw. Gould slipped this weapon into an adjustable holster and grabbed a bandolier of rounds. After slinging these over his shoulder and grabbing a few pieces of assorted kit from their respective places, Gould left the room.

He then proceeded down to the docking bay, where a shuttle was waiting to take him planetside. As he was walking down a brightly lit service corridor, looking over the mission documents one more time, he failed to notice two hooded men step out of a service closet behind him. He finally realized what was happening when he felt a cold muzzle press up against the back of his head.

"Alright, don't move," one of them said, sporting a thick Cadian accent, "Unless you do _exactly_ what we say there'll be murder."

Gould turned around slowly and got a good look at his attackers. One of them was tall and muscular, and the other was short and fat. Both men looked to be of mixed Cadian and Vitrian ethnicity.

"What's your name?" Gould asked the tall man.

"Shoot him," the fat man told his compatriot.

"Ohh," Gould said mockingly. Neither of the men looked like killers. They were frozen in place, not moving a muscle. Gould studied the men's weapons; compact stubpistols chambered in 9mm. Closer scrutiny, however, revealed something to Gould. These men had obviously been very anxious about confronting someone like him. And in their panicked haste, they had forgotten one _very_ basic thing, and this mistake had just tipped the odds in Gould's favor.

"Well," Gould said, in a mock defeated tone, "You boys must be pretty proud of yourselves, getting onto my ship and ambushing me like this. But you've got it all wrong. You've got nothing on me. I've still got the upper hand, you see," he said, smiling triumphantly.

He continued, "Perhaps it's the fact that your weapons don't have a round chambered. See that little indicator on the side?" he said, with a satisfied smirk at the surprised looks on his assailants' faces, "And my Desert Hunter, point three-five-seven, _does_."

He pulled the weapon from his long coat with a flourish and flicked the safety off, "Now, drop your guns and put your hands up. Make any sudden moves and your dead. Blah Blah Blah. You know how this goes."

The fat man reacted faster then Gould would have imagined, lunging for Gould's weapon. A loud _bang _reverberated throughout the hall, and the man fell dead, his shirt becoming rapidly stained by his own crimson blood. But by then, the thin man had lunged at Gould also, racking the slide of his weapon. Gould parried the pistol thrust in his face and fired back. The shot missed the man's head by inches. The man fired, Gould dodged, using his psychic powers to enhance his reaction time and awareness. Parry – Fire – Dodge – Reengage – Parry – Fire – Dodge - Reengage. The cycle continued, one of them firing while the other one knocked the weapon away. Eventually, Gould found a break in the man's defenses. Seizing the opportunity, Gould jabbed his weapon and fired. The shot snapped the man's head back violently. He slumped to the floor, looking very much the worse for wear and sporting a large, ugly bullet hole between his eyes.

Gould sighed and reloaded his weapon. He then walked over to the Vox set on the wall and keyed the common channel.

"Deckhand Yahlstein, please dispose of the mess in corridor twenty three. Take it to hold seven, please. This order is effective immediately and overridingly. That is all."

Turning and surveying the scene one last time, Gould continued to the waiting shuttle. On the way to the docking bay, he turned the situation over and over in his mind. The attack posed many more unanswered questions. If they were dealing with an organization with the resources to send operatives onto his tightly secure ship, guarded by dock security and gun servitors, Gould hoped that he would live long enough to see them answered.

………………………………………………………………………………...

Well, here's the second chapter. What do you think?

I always imagine that Gould has a fighting style similar to the style of Gun Kata.

Trivia Fun Facts of the day: The songs playing in the fic are meant to sound similar to E Nomine's song "Opus Magnum" and Era's song "Enae Volare Mezzo" respectively. I was listening to these songs while I wrote this so I thought I would include a reference to them as they partially inspired this chapter. (Note, they are not meant to be the same songs.)

Also, the name of the sawn off shotgun, the Mark 59 Legion, is a reference to the Biblical verse Mark 5:9, which reads: "And He asked it who it was, and it responded, saying, "I am Legion, for we are many."

The name Shalebridge Arms is a reference to the Shalebridge Cradle, from Thief, Deadly Shadows.

Just to note, a "box" magazine is a regular "magazine" in the traditional handgun sense. I.E. like you would see on a Colt 1911 or M16. Also, 9mm still exists in 40k, as mentioned in the Ravenor novels, so it can be assumed that many modern calibers are still around.

The songs are the property of their respective owners.

(Additional note: The name of the band War Fetus is the property Alex Weise and Ross Edel. Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.)

Update ticker: some dialog was reworked to flow better, and some punctuation mistakes were corrected.

R&R Please. I would love to hear your thoughts as the story unfolds.

Yet another note: I may revise or edit this in the future. Just so you know.


	3. Deliver Them from Evil

Sorry this is so late. I've had a lot going on these past few weeks and on top of it, have had major writers block. Well, on with the story.

Note: denote flashbacks.

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Dusk was falling, casting everything into a dark, murky shadow. Underneath the cloudless blue sky, the inhabitants of the city of New Munich bustled to and fro, coming from work or going to it, cascading in an endless wave into the heart of the city, into the bars and the underground clubs, the echoing beats of blaring pound music floating up enticingly from their strobe light buzzing interiors.

Detective Gould watched this from the helm of his flyer; a sleek, official looking hoverjet that shone against the dark sky like a swooping bird of prey. Gould remembered buying it because of this very fact, the fact that it looked crisp and official; at the same time projecting a sinisterly businesslike air that hinted warningly at the incredible power that Gould possessed, both as a member of the Shadow Front and as a psyker.

"_Home sweet home," _thought Gould as he banked the craft onto the roof of a parking structure where several pads for flyers sat waiting.

Gould powered down the vehicle and stepped out onto the cold concrete. He exited at street level, passing merchants and businessmen, street performers jumping and flipping to the beats of portable disc players and vendors selling local delicacies on long, pointed skewers. He was heading for a nightclub, the meeting place the Shadow Front had arranged for him and Jack.

"Ambrosia" was a popular underground club built into an abandoned warehouse. It was smoky and stifling, with blaring pound music and all manner of morally questionable luxuries. Gould descended the steps leading to the entrance and, pausing to show his ID to a heavily tattooed and piercing laden bouncer, stepped into the club's interior.

He was immediately bathed in an eerie blue light, coming, he noticed, from several far-spaced florescent lights, one of which was right above his head. This lighting arrangement cast much of the bar into shadow, probably by design, as much went on here that wasn't meant to be seen. He was in the bar area, separate from the main club. Several round tables were set into shadowed alcoves along the edges of the grated floor and continued down the hallway at the far end of the room. In one corner, a bartender wearing a full-face gas mask was pouring out drinks to several junkies who looked as though they had seen better days. One was slumped over the bar, apparently unconscious, and another was taking heavy draws from a long narcotic pipe that he held in his whisky-free hand. Tobacco and narcotic smoke was everywhere, and the fumes made Gould's head spin. He reached into his stormcoat and pulled out his rebreather; a compact BreatheRite industries model which was standard issue in the Shadow Front, and slipped it over his nose and mouth. After he had made sure he had gotten a good seal, he continued down the hall and entered the main club.

It was packed, with partygoers and patrons crammed into every inch of the large room. This was probably the warehouse's main floor, although Gould assumed the owners hadn't envisioned the pulsating dance floor, the tall vox speakers framing the DJ's podium, and the numerous tables lining the edges of the room when it was first built. Massive light panels were set into the arched ceiling, casting everything in a pale, pallid yellow glow.

"Gould! Hey Gould!"

Matthias looked around. Jack Constantine was waving him over to a table in a corner. He rose and shook Gould's hand. He was a tall man in his early fifties, and thin, with a lined face and good-natured eyes. His hair was spiked up in the tall fauxhawk hairstyle popular on his homeworld of Necromunda.

"Hey, long time no see, Matt. So what's the-?"

He was cut off by a man half walking half jogging towards them. He was wearing the same stormcoat as Gould, and had a thin, rather trapezoid shaped face topped by short-cut brown hair. He ran up to them and stopped suddenly, looking surprised.

"Jack!? Hey, I come looking for detective Gould and I run into you. Out of all the bars on all the planets in this whole Imperium, you chose this one. Well how's it been, man?" he asked, extending his hand, which Jack shook, "You really helped us out back there. Man, that was one wacky case."

"You know this man?" Gould asked Jack, pulling the rebreather down.

"Yeah, did a job on Sevyanaa for him a while back, tracking job. Gould, this is detective Kyle Heywood."

"Detective Gould. It's an honor to meet you," he said, "I've heard a lot about you. I was posted on Sevyanaa until about five days ago. Heading over to, uhh, Solarikus, to sort out a nasty- well, I'm not allowed to tell you about that. Just stopped over here to pick up some supplies. Been riding with the Crimson Light outta Blackfield."

"A luxury liner?" Gould implored.

"Yep, my second cousin's the owner of Starlight Travel, gives me lifts whenever I want them. Can't compare to having your own ship, but that's a little outta my price range at the moment. But anyway, what I ran all the way down here for. An Inquisitor Roland and an Inquisitor Obscura want to see you, detective. Something about a mission."

"Alright," Gould replied.

"I'm part of this op, too," Jack interjected, "Should I come?"

"If you want," replied Kyle.

"Inquisitor Roland? Jericho Roland?" Gould asked, "As in Roland the Bullet Dodger?"

"Don't know. Might be," Kyle shrugged, "Why do they call him the bullet dodger?"

"Because he dodges bullets, Kyle. He's a psyker and my old combat instructor."

"Interesting," Kyle replied, "Tall guy, wide hat, bionic eye?"

"That's him," confirmed Gould, "let's go."

Kyle proceeded to usher them along the edge of the dance floor and down a side hall. As they climbed the staircase, Gould hung back to walk beside Constantine.

"You've been to Sevyanaa recently?" he asked, "What's it like now?"

"Oh, you know: big cities, dusty plains, bad food, worse weather, Grant fragging Phillips, Sevyanaa."

"Grant Phillips, as in the artist?"

"The very same," Jack said with distaste. Grant Phillips was an infamous painter noted for his grotesque depictions of clowns, as well as his "Splatter" paintings. He had spawned the famous threat that went: (insert requested action here) or your brains are a Grant Phillips.

'Haven't been there since the war. How's it coming along?"

"Quite well, actually," Jack said, "can't tell a war was even fought there anymore, at least in my opinion. So, you know Inquisitor Roland?"

"Yes, I do. He trained me when I was on the black ships. Saw my potential immediately," said Gould, "He's got a lot of combat experience under his belt, and it's apparently impossible to kill the guy. He was shot eight times…"

"Yeah?"

"…in one sitting. That's how he supposedly lost his eye…"

(Flashback, a seedy downstack club in a "stacked" hive city)

A man pulls a gun on a jacketed man with long hair and opens fire. He is shot a total of eight times, the assailant becoming angrier and angrier each time he is hit and doesn't fall. The eighth shot glances off the longhaired man's face and takes out his right eye. He stumbles, staggers to his feet, and then draws a long sword from beneath his heavy coat. "Ohh, you're gonna pay for that one," he sneers, blood copiously seeping from his destroyed eye.

"…And he never told me what happened after that. Inquisition classified, he said. Well, if even half of that story is true. He's one lucky man. Lucky or blessed."

They had arrived at the club manager's office and were ushered in by Kyle.

Inside stood two men. One of them was tall and slender, with a thin face and untidy brown hair. He was wearing a long coat and was sitting at a desk, on which a revolver rested. The other man was more powerfully built than his companion, and sported a heavier stormcoat and a wide brimmed leather hat. Long dark hair sprouted from beneath the hat and a bionic eye had, unceremoniously it seemed, been jammed into the man's right eye socket. It whirred and clicked at the newcomers as they entered. The sitting man stood up and addressed the party.

"Hello detective, Jack. Well I'm almost one hundred percent sure that you're all wondering why you're here. Unless anyone has suddenly developed mind reading powers," he laughed and continued, a more serious edge to his voice now, "There's been a slight change of plans. You will have an additional objective while you're out in the marshes. I would like you to place this," he pulled out what looked like a small wallet-sized transmitter and handed it to Gould, "near the castle."

Gould examined the device. It was a small, boxy device with a small screen and touchpad on it.

"It's a psycho-reactive transmitter. It'll take a reading of the psychic fabric of the area and let us know what's going on in there. We're almost certain that the dead zone effect is of psychic origin, and if we get that reading, our astropoths might be able to break it," Obscura said.

"Don't forget," said Roland, speaking for the first time in a deep, slightly accented voice, "That's vital to our investigations into the nature of the Death Marshes. We need that planted there."

"Yeah, Yeah, keep your hair on, Grandad," piped in Jack.

Obscura, who had been prepping the device and only half listening, piped in, "Whoa, Whoa, I'm 29, for Throne's sake."

'Not you, him," Jack said, gesturing at Roland.

"Whoa, hey, Jack. Remember, this "old man" saved your skin on Solarikus that day. So I walk into this bar, see, and I see this young punk with a boltgun trying to arrest this drug dealer…"

"Throne of God, not this again," Jack sighed.

"…And dragged you all the way to a hospital. And so what if I'm a hundred and forty seven. Inquisitor Moody is a hundred and seventy, and he's still going strong. He's one of the most respected Inquisitors I know. And that's nothing compared to…"

"Hey, remember Inquisitor," Jack interrupted, "Krystone city, New Vista. We're square,"

"Okay, Okay," Obscura cut him off, "That's enough, you two. Play nice."

"Yes, yes, Colin. I know. I'm just giving Jack here a hard time. I have to annoy the life and soul out of him _now_. He might not be coming back from this one,"

"How reassuring. You know, I can't tell you how much I value your unwavering support and encouragement, Inquisitor. Frankly, it's what keeps me going,"

Roland laughed, a dry bark of a laugh, and he and Jack launched into a heated discussion on Solarikan crime statistics, Jack fervently claiming that his two months there had turned the city he had been staying in completely around.

"Colin," Gould said, pulling Obscura aside, "Something happened that I believe you'd like to be aware of," he recounted the story of the altercation on his ship to the Inquisitor.

"Hmm," Obscura mused, sounding thoughtful, "Now that is a problem," Gould could sense that Obscura was more concerned than he was letting on. 'I'll look into it for you. In the meantime, what do you have for weapons?"

Gould produced for Colin the Desert Hunter and the Sawnoff. "Huh," Colin said again, "You might want to take more protection on this op than just a heavy pistol and a whacked off hunting piece. You never know what's out there. Listen, I know some guys who could lend you some guns. You know Rainwood Security?"

"As in Dr. Milagro's Rainwood Security?" Gould inquired.

"The very same," Obscura confirmed, 'they're stationed at this address. Got a contract to arrest some local gunrunners, or so I've heard. Drop by and gear up proper. That's an order, detective," Obscura said, putting on a mock serious tone, "We can't have you getting filleted out there because all you're armed with is a pistol."

"No, I wouldn't give Current Clothing Styles Dodger there the satisfaction,"

"I heard that!" Roland called from across the small room.

"Anyway, pick up some guns, will you? Ohh, here," Obscura said, walking over and snatching the revolver from on the desk, "If you're gonna pack a revolver, I highly recommend this one. The Braintree Arms Model 6. Great revolver. Reliable. Accurate. One of my favorites."

"It's a bit heavy, isn't it?" Gould asked, taking the weapon from Colin and hefting it in his hand.

"Hark, who's talking, Mr. Desert Hunter anti-aircraft pistol. And so what? Heavy is good, reliable. And if you run out of ammo, you can always club them over the head with it," Obscura said with a laugh.

"I'll look into it. Thanks," said Gould, handing the revolver back to the Inquisitor and turning to leave, "Jack! We should go."

Together, they made ready to leave, "Gould," Roland cut in, "May I have a quick word?"

Inquisitor Roland pulled Gould aside, "Be careful out there. Just because you have the Gift, doesn't mean you're invincible. Just because you're fast, doesn't mean you can't be hit. Use cover. Use discretion. Use what I taught you. I didn't spend all that time training you, all that time convincing the suits that you could control your abilities and stay with the Shadow Front, for you to die in some Throne-forsaken swamp, you hear?"

'I understand, Inquisitor," Gould replied.

"I certainly hope you do," replied Roland, waggling his finger at Gould in the way one would admonish a disobedient child, barely concealing his grin. Finally, he let it break and slapped Gould on the shoulder, "Well good luck, Detective. Hey, look me up when you get back. We'll come back here for a round of drinks. I want to hear what you've been up to."

"I just might take you up on that offer, Inquisitor, but pick a different bar, this one isn't quite my taste. How about Hermann's, on east Vermögen street. Best schnapps in the subsector,"

"I'll take a piece of that," Obscura interjected.

"I look foreword to it. And you can bring Jack if you like. That mophead's always good for a laugh,"

"Auh, I'm standing right here, Inquisitor!" Jack blurted out.

"Just kidding Jack. You know I am. Seriously now, what's life if you can't laugh at yourself once in awhile."

"Yeah, fine, whatever. But you're buying! I know how expensive drinks can get around here. No offense, Matt," he said in an apologetic undertone.

"None taken. Look, are we ever going to get out of here?"

"What, don't like my-", but Gould cut him off.

"We're really running late here, and if we're going to get out to Rainwood, we've got to cut this short,"

'Okay, good luck again, and see you when you get back," Roland replied, as Gould and Jack headed for the door.

"Good luck," Obscura piped up.

"Goodbye," called Gould as they exited the office and headed for the street.

………………………………………………………………………………...

Note: a 'stacked" city is a city where buildings are stacked on top of one another, a la Project Eden or Beam Breakers. An example of a stacked city in 40k is Petropolis, from the Ravenor novels.

This fic is subject to repeated editing for grammatical structure and content. Your help is appreciated.

Trivia Fun Facts of the Day: Inquisitor Jericho Roland's look was based on a classic Necromunda Bounty Hunter, the model with the two bolt pistols and the shotgun. His name comes from two places. "Jericho" comes from Jericho Cross, the protagonist in the game Darkwatch, in which Cross has attire very similar to Roland's. "Roland" comes from the protagonist of the Dark Tower series, who like the Inquisitor, is a gunslinger and wears a long coat and hat. Jack Constantine's look also comes from a Necromunda Bounty Hunter, the 'Bounty Hunter with Bolters" model.

I find I have a habit of starting stories and then, when I'm almost done, giving the main character a cameo in another story. Kyle Heywood is starring in the upcoming story entitled "Sevyanaa Stories" I might also write a story about Inquisitor Obscura or Roland.


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